


When Music Hits You, You Feel No Pain

by Inspire_me_to_breathe



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Crack, First Meetings, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Introspection, M/M, Pining, Romance, Secret Relationship, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1495834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inspire_me_to_breathe/pseuds/Inspire_me_to_breathe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five drabbles inspired by random songs from my iPod on shuffle. I gave myself only the duration of the song to write each one.</p><p>It was intended as a writing exercice but I'm quite proud of how they turned out. If you only read one, read 'Stairway to Heaven'. It's my favourite, probably because I had the most time on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Music Hits You, You Feel No Pain

**Author's Note:**

> These are unedited (except for a quick spell check) so basically whatever poured out while listening to the songs.
> 
> You can find all the songs on Youtube. I have stolen a few of the lyrics, but it's all cool.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Arabella - Arctic Monkeys**

Eames casually swanned into Ariadne's room and flopped down on her bed. She looked up from her work and shot him a questioning look.

"What're you doing?"

He ignored her question, instead sighing, "I'm in love."

She smiled slightly, "With whom?"

"Ar-" Eames paused, knowing full well that Arthur had banned him from making their relationship public. It was too dangerous, so he indulged in a moment of panic before salvaging the answer and finishing with "Arabella".

"Sounds like a prostitute’s name," Ariadne muttered, although her smile was teasing.

"No, she's wonderful," Eames hummed, "Her lips are like a galaxies edge. She's a constellation falling into place."

"Wow," Ariadne blinked, "Poetic,"

Eames nodded happily, but just then Arthur entered, carrying an armful of files which he dumped in front of Ariadne before turning to the pair suspiciously, "What are you up to?"

"Eames is telling me about his new romantic interest," Ariadne grinned, "She’s called Arabella."

"Arabella?" Arthur nearly choked, "Are you serious?"

 

**Keep On Walking - Scouting for Girls**

Arthur's head hurt. He felt a little sick with all the heat in the room. The extractor was out-lining the plan, but Arthur couldn't concentrate. He never thought it would be this hard to be away from Eames for any prolonged period of time, but now his heart genuinely felt heavy, almost painful in its persistent aching. Suddenly, the longing became over-whelming and Arthur abruptly stood up and raced out of the room, quick-dialling Eames as he went. It went straight to voice mail and he almost screamed in frustration, instead moaning in dignified despair. Once he regained composure, he spoke, softly and lowly, "Eames, it's been three weeks. You win. I called you first. I haven't had a decent sleep since I left; my dreams are fucking killing me and I blame you."

Arthur cut off the call and ran a hand through his hair. He'd taken the job for the money, but what's the use of the money if he had no one to spend it with?

Arthur needed space, or else he might go crazy. He burst out of the warehouse and started walking quickly down the road, his mind fixating only on one location. The movement was good, it calmed him down and suppressed his restless, nervous energy. He hoped if he kept on walking, he might find his way back to Eames.

 

**Chocolate (Acoustic version) - The 1975**

Eames felt giddy with a job well done and the adrenaline throbbing through his blood as he and the chemist staggered through the streets of London, running from the boys in blue. They ducked into a small, indie club in an attempt to blend in. The walls were metallic, plastered with old band posters and Eames felt immediately at home. He smiled as he weaved his way through the crowd. A singer was performing on the stage, his fingers mournfully strumming an acoustic guitar. The music washed over Eames as he twisted around the people who were dressed in black from head to toe in an attempt to look edgy. He laughed, delighted, at how the 90s were coming back around to bite everyone on the arse. They found a place and sat down. Eames was enjoying the music. He thought he recognised the voice, it was deep and rich like chocolate.

"I think we better go," The chemist whispered to him, "This is a weird crowd."

But Eames shook his head, twisting round to get a better look at the singer. The man was dark-haired, with a stare so intense no one would have been surprised if he were hiding a gun somewhere on his person. Eames blinked in shock, and, at that second, the man caught his eye, and played the sweetest chord he'd ever heard. Arthur smiled at him softly, and kept singing.

 

**The Funeral - Band of Horses**

People had told Arthur about moments like this; when your body goes cold, your vision darkens and everyone seems to move in slow motion. He’d never believed them, scornfully labelling their testaments as fantasy caused by immense blood loss. But now he shivered as he stared at Eames, lying, still; blood pooling around his head and blackening the gunshot wound. Then everything snapped, like the tipping of the scales or the breaking of the storm, and Arthur lunged forward, deaf to Dom’s calls. He stumbled to Eames’ side, panting against his own exhaustion, his hands flickering uselessly over the wound to see that Eames was barely conscious, his eyes rolling slightly as he gazed up, almost blind, at the sky. Arthur swallowed. The smell was sickening, but he didn’t dare to move away. He pressed his forehead against Eames', and was scared by how cold the man was. "Fuck," Arthur whispered, "Not yet, you bastard.” He wasn’t sure if he was crying or it was blood making tracks down his cheeks, but the effect was the same. Arthur sobbed, clutching at Eames, and moaned quietly, “I'm not ready for the funeral."

 

**I Knew You Were Trouble - Taylor Swift**

Eames laughed easily, finding himself charmed by Mal's delightful tales and her French sincerity. She smiled at him as she placed a hand over his forearm and then pointed towards the door.

"Meet Arthur."  She purred.

Eames followed her gaze and caught his breath when he saw the man she was gesturing to. Arthur was incredible; the rare variety of human beings who have no faults.

"Hello," Eames forced himself to say, but felt his hands shaking.

Arthur glanced at him in disinterest, his eyes flickering away almost immediately, "Mr Eames."

And then the saddest fear crept into Eames; that this man would never love him. He realised in a heartbeat how dangerous Arthur was and could anticipate the trouble he would cause – because, in that second, the forger knew he would fight for Arthur until he could no longer remain standing, his last ounce of strength sacrificed. He would not give up, not until he was lying on the cold, hard ground.

 

**Stairway to Heaven - Led Zeppelin**

Cold light and smoke drifted in mist-clouds above their heads. Eames watched them fade, untouchable like a person’s soul, he supposed. The water was no longer warm but their bodies were relaxed, limp and soft underneath rough nails and finger tips as Arthur traced a line of red down the raised bones of Eames’ back. Arthur’s hair was water-darkened and it coiled in messy strands that weaved about around the edges of his face, clinging to cheekbones and kissing the curves of his neck.

Porcelain fingers clutched a long cigarette and Eames slowly raised it to trembling lips, staring at Arthur. The other man smiled, tracing the edges of tattoos submerged in water. The ink came alive underneath his fingers; it grew and spread, staining the pale skin. Arthur read the promises signed on Eames' skin; he knew every word and every line, remembered the meanings engraved in flowers and shapes and colours. He could have lost himself in a chaotic world of lust and humanity, drawn to the rawness of the naked body, and the poetry of silence.

The air was tinted grey and white and Eames couldn’t remember if it was morning or evening, but he could see the stars through the mottled glass. Arthur had once told him that to really see and to understand they must look past the constellations. Tear them down. Their stories and histories, revolving in endless orbit around this rock, tear it all down. Arthur had whispered that they must break through emotions. They were labels. He told Eames to feel without naming it. So Eames felt his heart, flickering like a caged bird exposed to sunlight - searching for a stairway to Heaven.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos/comments if you liked! Thank you <3


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